Finding Friendship Next Door: Meet Joyce Hagen-Flint

Meet Joyce Hagen-Flint, a Midlander who has been intentionally working to connect with and support her neighbors. Tune in this Wednesday for Episode 12 of the Max Loves Midland Show to hear Joyce’s story from moving back to Midland during a pandemic, to losing her husband, to building neighborly bonds and celebrating Neighboring Week. If you haven’t already, check out our YouTube channel and hit subscribe today so you don’t miss a thing from The Max Loves Midland Show!

Love,
Max

Watch Episode 12 of
The Max Loves Midland Show

In Her Own Words:

My husband and I moved back to Midland in 2020 during the pandemic after being away since the 90s. I had lived here for 20 years before we moved away, but when we returned, things were different. With the pandemic, getting to know anyone was hard because everyone was staying inside. Then, about a year after we moved in, my husband passed away. And just this year, Tony, the gentleman who lived next door, passed away too. I had only gotten to know the couple next door and on the other side—no one else in the neighborhood.

When I heard about Tony, I called Gail, his wife, to express my condolences. I asked her if there was anything I could do for her, and she said, "No, there's really nothing anybody can do. You know what it's like." I told her that if she thought of anything at all, I was there to help. She then explained that Tony used to chat with everyone. He was always outside, introducing himself to anyone he saw, and everybody knew him. She said they probably knew he was sick, but they didn't think he had passed away. She didn't have anyone's last names, phone numbers, or any way to contact them, and she wasn't up to going door to door.

I told her, "I've got this. I can take care of it."

There was also a couple living on my other side, and I wasn't sure how long they had been there. They had been around since we moved back, and they seemed settled, but they didn't even know everyone. The husband said, "I've got you and Gail because you introduced me to her, but that's it. I think there's a guy named Walt at the other end of the street, but that's all I know." So, I thought, "Well, I promised Gail I'd help, so I need to figure this out."

At the time, I had a summer tenant staying in my finished basement. She was a nurse working a short-term contract at the hospital and had brought her 11-year-old daughter with her. I often kept an eye on her daughter while she was at work, so I called Emma, the daughter, and invited her upstairs. I told her, "We're going to bake some muffins and deliver baked goods to our neighbors." She was excited—at 11, they're up for anything—so we made muffins, packed them into little bags, and wrote a letter about Tony's passing and details about his service. I included a form asking for basic information like name, email, phone number, who lived in the household, and what they enjoyed doing. I told them they could email, text, or drop the form in my mailbox.

I hoped this would help us have a way to connect the next time we needed to communicate. Over the next three days, I didn't receive any emails or texts, but every household came to my front door. And not just one person from each household—everyone who lived in each house came, thanking me for doing this, introducing themselves, and sharing how much they appreciated knowing about Tony. They also expressed how much they had enjoyed having him as a neighbor.

One family stood out. They had four little boys—the oldest was seven—so you can imagine how busy their lives are! They not only brought their form but also a bag of cookies for me. I offered them some cookies, and the mother stood straight as the oldest boy said, "We have our cookies at home. Thank you." I suspect that response was carefully rehearsed—they were not getting those cookies back!

Some neighbors stayed and visited inside, while others had short chats on the front porch. But by the end of it all, I had a complete list of everyone on our cul-de-sac—names, ages, phone numbers, email addresses, and a little information about their interests. I mentioned the idea of a block party a few times, and they seemed excited, saying, "Count us in!" But, as summer went on, life got busy, and it never quite happened.

Then Wally Mayton, who had been talking about Neighboring Week forever, gave me the perfect excuse. I'm part of a weekly call with him, and I thought, "This is the right time." Four of the households on our street still have people who work, while some of us are retired. So, I decided a Saturday afternoon would work best. I created a distribution list and sent a message inviting everyone to gather for a potluck and games. I have an extra-wide driveway—big enough for four cars—so I suggested we set up tables and chairs. My next-door neighbor also offered to put out some cornhole games and other activities.

We had an incredible time at our Neighboring Week party. Almost everyone in the neighborhood attended.

If we want a more welcoming, kinder world, then shouldn't it start by at least knowing who lives next door? How can we expect countries to get along if we can't even say hello and call the person by name who shares our lot line? How do you cross borders if you can't even cross the street?